


Broken mold

by ShadowSelene (Shadowdianne)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Emma/Sea pickle mentioned, F/F, SQ Pre relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 16:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16664293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowdianne/pseuds/ShadowSelene
Summary: “My sexuality doesn’t define me” Asked by ms-rugby back at tumblrHadn’t she merely followed string after string of prewritten decisions? She had become good at that again, she had always been quite good at pretending, at wishing to fit in.Until she snapped of course, until she fled from foster care, until she was caught by Lily trying to steal, until she was discovered by Neal wanting to fly away.





	Broken mold

**Author's Note:**

> Set on: S6 with slight canon divergence with me not taking into account the dark fairy arc during the wedding.

“You know,” Snow said, pinching and prodding every visible surface of Emma’s dress, her hands ironing lines and creases that weren’t there as she checked the hour with one eye while focusing on Emma’s reflection on the mirror with the other. “When I first met you, I wouldn’t have dreamt of seeing you like this.”

It was the inflection perhaps, the almost conversational way Snow said the words, the tone dropping just before raising again, in that too cheery vocalization that made Emma wince inwardly sometimes, that had made her wince outwardly before. Whatever it was, Emma blinked and tilted her head, glancing at her mother from the corner of her eyes with a question already raising on her lips, time ticking away, and a ceremony momentarily pushed away from her immediate thoughts.

“When you first met me?”

Her voice sounded brash, sharp and she could almost feel the hesitation on Snow’s movements, her hands coming finally to a rest between Emma’s shoulder blades, the warmth they radiated suddenly uncomfortable in a way that the blonde couldn’t exactly understand why, nerves coiling on her lungs. She had a wedding to attend, vows to say, a ring to exchange. And yet, all of a sudden, she felt dragged to whatever Snow’s question was going to be instead.

Snow shrugged and, trailing her fingers up the back’s fabric, she cleared her throat, the movement reflected to Emma with the aid of the mirror, half of Snow’s face covered by her own.

“I mean.” She began, only to stop and try again. “You didn’t look like the type of… you know.”

Emma had heard that tone before, sometimes thrown at her in disgust, other times with doubt lacing vowels and consonants but she had never expected to hear it from her mother. Not after the marriage had been decided, not after showing her the ring she now wore on her hand, about to be replaced with another. One that felt heavy even on her mind’s eye in a way she wasn’t entirely sure how to tackle.

“The type.” She repeated, muttered almost to herself. Type. The word burnt on her throat and chest; the epithet seeming stupid enough, not really showcasing a thing and yet revealing enough for her skin to feel like burning in a sudden shame that she knew had been learnt and accepted.

“Yes.” Snow replied, circling her and stopping at her right, hands fiddling together, fingers picking at the fabric of her own dress, at anything really as she shrugged, tried to feign nonchalance when the air on the room they were in felt heavy and stiff suddenly. “But look at you. You look gorgeous on that dress, honey.”

Emma could feel the muscles on her jaw beginning to mount together, teeth painfully clenched. Not out of anger, she realized, but fear. The same fear, the same yearning of acceptance that had guided her many times before. Before Storybrooke, she still could remember after all with painful accuracy the first time she had felt the fear resurface within her, the fear of being rejected and considered less than what dreams and wishes and words had made her out to be.

_“People are going to tell you who you are your whole life. You just got to punch back”_

The words felt like almost mocking her now, badly aged and not true to her anymore.

“You think so?” She asked, her voice frail in a way that made her want to gag, pale face and blushed cheeks, all the way the perfect looking bride-to-be.

Snow nodded at her, some of her own nervousness seeming to disappear as she realized Emma wasn’t going to ask her further, that realization making Emma’s bones feel like glass and ice; about to be shattered under the realization her mother hadn’t expected her to push back, to question her further.

Turning fully so she was able to look at her, forgetting the mirror and the reflection it gave back to her, Emma eyed Snow, at the way the other woman titled her head to one side, confusion fluttering on the back of her eyes. It was that second, that millisecond, the last moment Emma had to turn back to the mirror, let her mother keep on pampering her, smile at her words and remain silent, unassuming, mute.

She wanted to do that, she realized. Hadn’t she done that for the most part of the last few years? Hadn’t she merely followed string after string of prewritten decisions? She had become good at that again, she had always been quite good at pretending, at wishing to fit in.

Until she snapped of course, until she fled from foster care, until she was caught by Lily trying to steal, until she was discovered by Neal wanting to fly away.

“What was my type back then, there? Wouldn’t have I looked well on this dress as well?”

She had been very good at wishing to find a family and a place to be. She was also very good at standing her ground. Had been at least.

_"No, this is who I am”. You want people to look at you differently? Make them!”_

Snow’s shock was evident on her face, clearly not expecting Emma to ask her, voice louder and closer to the pitch Emma recognized as being the one she had used when she had first reached Storybrooke, when the idea of magic and curses was as ludicrous as talking animals and Disney characters being real.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that.”

It was a meek and poor excuse and the two of them knew it. Emma could see the words forming on Snow’s expression after all. Words she had seen on her foster brothers and sisters, words she had seen during her school days. Not always cutting, not always insulting, but heavy nonetheless, carrying a kind of heat she hadn’t been able to fend herself from.

It was the dress, she thought, the tightness of it all, the delicate details, the expectations interwoven into it and through her mother’s words having that same heat, that same clogging-like feeling that made her struggle and swallow.

 “My sexuality doesn’t define me.”

She didn’t stop, not when the first sentence was out of her. Not even she realized too late she had outed herself after years of carefully choosing what information she could share and what she couldn’t. A sentence she hadn’t known she had wanted to say and yet seeming fitting as Snow began to shake her head, a reassuring word already about to come out of her.

But Emma couldn’t make her speak, couldn’t and didn’t want to because if she let Snow speak then she would be quiet again and she couldn’t afford that. Not when the next few words bubbled just beneath the surface, finally released from inside of her.

“I can like dresses.” She kept on going. “I can want to marry him, my… I’m not only a word. Mom. I’m not…” She took a jagged breath through half clenched teeth, two words glowing on her mind. “I’m not only a savior, I’m not only…” She stopped again, her tongue unsure, maybe, of how to expel the rest that threatened to pull each tooth out with the sheer force she was propelled from inside. “I’m more than that. I’m more than words, I’m more…” She finally said, shaking her head, hands closed into fists at both sides of her body, dress strange to her frame, heavy in the same way the ring felt on her imagination, wrapped around her finger very much like the vows she still didn’t know fully how to say were wrapped around her throat, strangling her.

Snow rose both hands placatingly, eyes dark and worried.

“I know that.” She said, voice soft but Emma took a step backwards, almost losing her footing.

_“You want to change things, you’re going to have to go out there and change them yourself, because there are no fairy godmothers in this world. “_

“I need to call off the wedding.”

She didn’t quite register what she had said until the silence on the room brought her back in; Snow’s mouth open but not sound coming out of her. And, despite the brimming feeling of fear she still felt on the pit of her stomach, the words brought with it a sudden sense of relaxation she felt drunk on it.

“You said you wanted to marry him.”

Whipping her head towards her mother, focusing once again her frame, Emma nodded blindly as she reached for the promise ring on her finger, taking it out and letting it fall between her fingers. The sound it made against the floor clunky and heavy.

“I don’t want to.” She said. “I thought… No. I need to change things, mom. And I don’t want…”

She shook her head, unable to explain herself further, not really wanting to.

“I need to go.” She added, almost an afterthought that almost knocked her out as she realized she, in fact, wanted that. Panic settling in, Snow took a step towards her, but Emma was already disappearing away, her body a condensed mass of fog and magic. Despite that, she was able to hear Snow’s final question, one she didn’t bother to answer.

“Where?!”

  _“To Regina.”_


End file.
